A/N: Ignoring any and all comments and the fandom uproar that happened this week and just gonna say HEY LOOK A CHAPTER YOU SHOULD READ AND TELL ME WHATCHA THINK OF IT AND STUFF \ (^u^) /

Also I just really like that smiley dude guyer thing...

Um, a scene towards the end of this chapter might seem a li'l slightly tiny bit dub-con-y, so...warning for that. "The Lost Boys" is property of whoever in the 80s made it (and hopefully not whatever dumbass who decided there should be a sequel with Taylor Townsend from "The OC"—whom I love, but no, sweetheart. No.). I just referenced it with love. Other than that, enjoy, lemme know whatcha think, and have a Palm Woods Day :D

The move took place six weeks after his dad had been buried.

Derek had returned to his house after the sun had long set, ignoring Scott's questions about where he'd been and why was he covered in dirt and sweat. The younger werewolf couldn't fully shift yet and therefore didn't know about the relief that came with running on four legs and letting go of everything that made you human, even if it was only temporary. Derek wasn't about to explain it.

The broken trophies, awards, and certificates were gone when he'd walked into his room. He never asked where they went or who cleaned it up. He remained silent but thankful that he didn't have to deal with that shit himself.

The next week was dedicated to Melissa getting the house ready to sell, which meant obsessively cleaning it. Scott and Derek were recruited to help, Scott obviously pleased to see her up and about and spending more time out of bed than in it. Derek welcomed the distraction of doing something other than having to deal with everyone's depression over the McHale patriarch's death.

Melissa dealt with the realtor, sending the boys out whenever the house was being shown to perspective buyers. Scott would request lacrosse practice, would offer to play one-on-one basketball, but Derek said no every time. The younger McHale gave up after a week.

It took about a month for the house to sell, after which they got serious about packing everything, an event that took about two days. The furniture was put into storage, boxes of their belongings sent off to California a few days before their moving date, leaving the house an empty husk of what had once been a home. Derek tried not to see it as a metaphor and failed. His last night there, he'd laid awake on top of his sleeping bag in the middle of his bare room, staring at his ceiling as he thought about how much he felt like the chamber itself. Both were hollow and void of anything resembling life, but unlike him, his room would soon be inhabited by someone else, someone who would appreciate the blue walls and the hardwood floors, the large windows and decent sized closet, the spacious interior and attached bathroom.

He couldn't say the same about himself.

Breakfast was at their favorite diner before they got in a cab and headed to the airport to fly to California. Their cars had been shipped ahead of time to their abuela's house, Melissa assuring Derek that his Camaro would be fine and would make it in one piece. Part of him hoped it crashed, but he didn't say so out loud. He still hadn't spoken since after his dad's wake.

They landed in San Fran at noon local time, their abuela there to pick them up. Maria Delgado was a petite woman, her olive skin wrinkled, her thick black shoulder-length hair streaked with gray, long caramel cardigan swallowing her fragile frame as she reached out to them with arthritic hands. She smothered her daughter in a bone-crushing hug, Spanish condolences and words of comfort rolling off her tongue in hushed tones Derek heard solely due to his werewolf auditory skills. She then hugged Scott and commented on how big he'd gotten, the compliment making him beam and smile bigger than he had for a few weeks. She looked Derek up and down before asking how "that girlfriend of yours is". He shrugged and shook his head, Melissa supplying the info that he'd broken up with her. Hadn't been a hard decision really. He hadn't spoken to her in weeks and the move made a good excuse.

'Course doing it via text message probably wasn't the best idea, especially considering her response was a simple "fuck you, derek." but he didn't care. It was over. That was the only thing that mattered.

The four of them piled into Maria's car—a station wagon, because of course she'd have one—Melissa insisting on driving. Their suitcases stashed in the back, she got behind the wheel, her mom in the passenger seat providing directions that were always paired with a "I know, Mom, thanks." Scott sat in the middle of the backseat, leaning forward between the two front ones, clearly excited to be starting a new adventure. Derek was silent as always, staring out the side window and watching the scenery whiz by in blurs of green, brown, and gray.

He hated California already.

He could feel Melissa watching him through the rear view mirror, could smell the concern rolling off her, mixing with Scott's joy and Maria's own mix of the two emotions.

"Ya know," the younger female started, and he closed his eyes, really wishing she wouldn't. He wasn't in the mood for any conversations to be started, to hear any lectures or talks about whatever the hell she wanted to discuss. "Silence is golden" was a cliché for a reason, mostly because it was true.

"I think this will be good for us," she stated with a sharp nod to the head, as though backing up her own argument. "A fresh start, with the fresh air, being surrounded by supportive people who are far less judgmental than New Yorkers. This is exactly what we need."

Derek ground his teeth, resting his scruff covered jaw on his hand as he reopened his eyes and watched as a red sedan sped by them on the outside lane. He wished his iPod battery hadn't died during the flight. He could use his headphones at that moment, could use the auditory blocks of Linkin Park screaming in his ears rather than having to listen to whatever bullshit his mom was spouting as a means to justify her stupid decisions. They didn't need to move clear across the country, didn't need a fresh start. They needed Andrew back.

"Isn't this how 'The Lost Boys' started?" Scott questioned, referring to some stupid vampire movie he'd made Derek watch months ago because Stiles had insisted it was a "classic". Could hardly count as a classic when it was from the eighties, but that was beside the point. "The mom and her two sons in the car heading to their new California home where they'd be staying with one of her parents, only it's full of literal stuffed animals and the town is infested with vampires and the elder almost turns into one?"

The elder brother in their current actual situation rolled his eyes. Only Scott would get so worked up over a hypothetical situation inspired by a stupid fucking movie.

"Except there's no vampires in Beacon Hills," Melissa pointed out calmly, sounding a little too insistent.

"Just the usual werewolves and hunters," Maria added, smirking at her youngest grandson. "And don't worry. I don't practice in taxidermy."

"Too bad," Derek spoke up, turning his head and looking at the others. "I was looking forward to impaling someone on a set of deer antlers."

Scott stared at him with his eyes wide and his uneven jaw dropped. Maria raised her eyebrows, looking taken aback before turning to her daughter for a confirmation that he was actually joking. Melissa glared at him via the rear view mirror.

"Six weeks of not talking and that is what you chose to say?" she questioned, voice hard as she scolded him, sounding a lot like it had when he was a kid and she ordered him to stop telling Scott there was a monster under his bed that ate his skin while he slept and that the tooth fairy would take his fangs if he ever bit anyone.

Derek shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly, wordlessly saying he didn't see the big deal about what he'd said, before turning back to the window.

Scott moved back to the seat opposite Derek on the back row, Maria turning to face the windshield, Melissa sighing. The rest of the ride was as silent as the eldest McHale son.

Derek felt no remorse for killing the mood.

Maria's home turned out to be a perfectly normal two-story house in a nice suburban neighborhood. Comprised of red brick, Derek took note of the painted front porch with its iron railings, the door and shutters all black, the slanted roof with its stereotypical black shingles. It was nothing extraordinary, nothing special, but as the station wagon pulled into the driveway, he heard Melissa let out a sigh that made it seem as though it was the most spectacular thing she'd ever seen.

Then again, if they were to turn the car around and head right back to NYC, he'd probably make a similar noise at the sight of their old house.

The engine killed, all four of them got out the car, stretching cramped limbs after a two hour drive. Scott made noises that made it seem as though his joints were as bad as Maria's and Derek fought the urge to throw something at his head in order to give him something to really feel achy over.

Too bad he didn't have anything in his grasp at that moment. Maria probably wouldn't appreciate him throwing the entire car.

Suitcases were grabbed and they headed towards the front door, following the eldest member of their group. Derek scanned his surroundings, taking in the other houses, the cars parked in various driveways. Someone a few lawns down was mowing, a mail truck was heading down the opposite side of the road, birds were chirping in trees as a squirrel raced across the road, barely being missed by a sedan. All in all, it was pretty typical of a mid-sized town, nothing too exciting or out of the norm there.

He hated it.

Sure, they lived in nice neighborhood in Queens, not exactly the thriving metropolis that was downtown Manhattan, but still close enough to the city that it was never boring. It was a quick drive to get to the excitement, something Derek did often enough, relishing the sights, sounds, and scents of the Big Apple.

But here? Here it was quiet and calm and peaceful and everything Derek didn't want. He wanted loud, he wanted crazy, he wanted wild. He wanted to not be in California living with an octogenarian.

And just like everything else in his life, he wasn't getting what he wanted.

The inside of the house was cool, the AC at just the right temp to fight off the heat of an early August day. The walls were a sunny yellow, the furniture all light oak, and the place had the warm feeling of a family home, despite there only being one person residing in it.

Well, until that day at least.

Maria didn't bother with a tour, the family having spent multiple vacations visiting her at this very house. Vacations that saw Scott and Derek sharing one of the two guestrooms.

Shit.

It wasn't that Derek had an issue in the past with the two of them sharing the same space. But that was usually only for a week, and it hadn't happened since he was twelve when his dad's increasing work schedule made family vacations out west a memory rather than a yearly thing. And all of that was long before Derek had decided that he was completely done with the whole interacting with other people bullshit. Not to mention the fact that he and Scott were a bit too old for living in the same room, even if the elder brother was up for being social and nice. Which he wasn't.

Scott was shown to the first guestroom up the stairs, Maria suggesting that he get started on unpacking his suitcase. Their boxes weren't scheduled to arrive until the next day, allowing them the chance to decompress after the flight and focus on adjusting to the new environment—and time zone—rather than having to deal with sorting things out and putting everything away.

Melissa was lead into the second guestroom and Derek could smell the anguish rolling off her as she set her eyes on the queen sized bed against the wall, the framed photo of her wedding on one of the nightstands. Scott left his room and pulled her into a one-armed hug as her own mother squeezed her hand in a sympathetic motion. Derek remained in the hallway, leaning against the wall and staring at a framed panoramic photo of Maria's hometown in Mexico, not really seeing the image.

So much for their fresh start. Seemed like things were gonna be just as shitty in California as they had been in New York, only now with the added bonus of mourning over the loss of his and Scott's childhood home and the life they'd had there. The only life they'd known really. And now it was gone, just like their dad.

Fucking terrific.

After several minutes of insisting she was okay—which was a total lie—Scott went back to his room looking like a rejected puppy, complete with invisible tail between the legs. Maria gave her daughter a kiss on the cheek before turning to her eldest grandson, motioning with her head for him to follow. Adjusting his grip on his suitcase, Derek nodded once before following her down the hall.

At the end sat a door he knew opened up to the attic stairs and she led him up them, holding onto the railing to aid her steps. Derek rolled his eyes at the slow pace, wanting the whole thing to just be over with already so he can be left the fuck alone. But no. Once again the universe was punishing him over some bullshit and he was stuck with exactly what he didn't want. Because that was his life now. Getting what he wasn't asking for, and receiving nothing he was actually desiring.

He figured he might as well just get used to it.

Didn't mean he didn't wanna claw off his own fucking skin or rip someone's throat out with his teeth though.

When they finally reached the top of the stairs, Maria flipped on a light switch, illuminating the space via strategically placed bulbs set on the beam that ran along the center of the room. The roof slanted down where they stood, forcing Derek to slightly hunch over in order to fit his six-foot frame, his petite abuela having no issue with the low ceiling in that section of the space. Turning, he stepped past the railing guarding people from falling down the stairs and entered the attic proper, allowing him to scan the place and get a good look at it.

The attic took up the entire third story, wood flooring covering the whole space with no exposed insulation, unlike the attic they had back in New York that was used mostly for storage. The ceiling rose to a point along the center, dividing the room in half lengthways, a dirt-covered window on either end.

The pathway to the window on the right was partially obstructed by boxes of various sizes, age, and dust levels, along with a few odd pieces of decor: an old tall lamp, a mirror, a black trunk, a low set of drawers. Junk, in Derek's opinion, all without a proper place, relegated to this out of the way room and completely forgotten about. He tried not to think too much about what it meant that he was given this room, instead turning his head to check out the other side of it.

Under the window to the left was a queen-sized mattress and box spring set, two pillows and a sheet set stacked on top of them. To the right of the frameless bed was a milk crate with a lamp, a makeshift nightstand of sorts. A desk was situated along the left side of the area, a plain wooden chair tucked under it, neither matching, a tall oscillating fan just to the right of it aimed towards the bed. A tall set of drawers was over to the right of the space, obviously acting as a closet of sorts, since the place was never really designed to be a bedroom.

Which kinda made all the electrical outlets a bit of question, but whatever. Just meant Derek didn't have to waste his own time installing them.

"This will be your room," Maria unnecessarily stated, stepping further into the open space in the middle of the attic. "I figured you and Scott were a bit too big to share one, and with you being older and apparently less social—" she gave him a pointed look that wordlessly told him that his mom had been telling her all about his recent lack of communicating with anyone. Whatever. "—you'd want the more private space."

Derek didn't say a word—not much of a change there—just simply meandered his way over to the mattress, dropping his suitcase unceremoniously on top. He inhaled deeply, taking in the scents of dust and wood, the musty smell of old things, Maria's perfume that she insisted on wearing despite knowing she had werewolf grandsons who couldn't stand that shit. The smell of everything was off and he felt his wolf-half whine internally, thrown off by all the changes in its surroundings. The human-half wasn't too stoked on things either, but it wasn't like either of them had a choice.

"I had the sheriff and his son help me move the mattress and desk up here," she continued, oblivious to her grandson's lack of interest or completely uncaring. "They live next door, both very handsome and helpful, good people."

Derek stood with his back to her, eyes closed, fingers pinching his brow as he felt the beginnings of a headache. Between his wolf's obvious displeasure at its new environment and the less than suitable scents hanging around what was now his room, he was agitated as hell. The fact that he was being forced to be social—to a degree anyway—certainly wasn't helping shit and he had to consciously focus on not wolfing out and snapping at Maria to just fuck off already.

Human or not, she could be scary in her own way.

Besides, it wasn't like he had any interest in becoming friendly with the neighbors—or anyone else for that matter. His stay in Beacon Hills was temporary, a year max, before he was off to college—hopefully one back east. Getting to know someone—regardless of whether he had any interest in doing just that in the first place—was a stupid idea and one he wasn't about to give in to.

"I know it doesn't have a whole lot," she went on, her mule clogs scraping against the wood floor as she shuffled around behind him. "But I figure with you leaving for college soon, you won't need that much. And if you do need something else, then feel free to take something from the other side of the attic. Or the basement. There's more stuff there."

He nodded because it seemed like the thing to do, dropping his hand with a slap against his denim clad thigh. The sparse furniture suited him just fine, gave the place an impersonal feel, which was exactly what he wanted. Anything more and he might actually feel inclined to stay, which just wasn't fucking happening. He wanted out and away from people, away from connections, away from having ties that could be severed between one heartbeat and the next. After all, if you didn't care about someone, then it didn't hurt when they were taken from you.

He wasn't gonna allow himself to be hurt ever again.

He heard Maria let out a resigned sigh, ignored her muttered Spanish prayer for strength and patience, barely nodded when she suggested he get settled and informed him dinner would be in a couple hours. Her slow footsteps receded down the stairs, punctuated by the door closing at the bottom, and Derek let out a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding. He was alone.

Finally.

With a heavy sigh of his own, he turned and slumped down onto the mattress, surprised when only a minimum amount of dust came flying up. He had an absent thought of someone cleaning the bed, but let it go as quickly as it came, deciding it didn't matter who or how or why, just that it did and that it now smelled less musty than it could have.

Flopping onto his back, he rubbed his hands over his face repeatedly, feeling the rasp of six week's worth of not shaving scratch against his rough palms. He hadn't shaved since the day of his dad's funeral. He wondered if he ever would again and decided he wouldn't. He liked the look of it, liked the way it added to his lack-of-fucks-given aura, liked his mom's obvious disapproval at it.

Plus shaving was a hassle he just couldn't bring himself to even think about dealing with, much less actually doing it. So bearded he shall remain.

Derek let his hands flop back above his head, causing scents buried in the mattress to rise up. He caught a whiff of the metal springs, foam core, and cotton outer layer, the dust and dirt from previous use, the distinctive odors of two males, one human and one werewolf.

It was the final two scents his wolf focused on, taking them apart and analyzing each note. There was a similar ring to them, leading him to believe they were related to one another. Probably the neighbor and his kid that Maria had previously mentioned, his mind supplied, making sense. But there was something about the more canine scent that Derek became entranced by, something he wanted to explore further, something that grabbed him by the nose and pulled him in...

His face was buried in the mattress, a fact he was only aware of when he tried to inhale deeply and found himself being slightly suffocated.

Derek shot up to his feet and over by the desk with lightning fast reflexes, his chest heaving as air rushed back into his lungs. His body felt tense, rigid, a coil wrapped too tight and ready to explode and it was only when he glanced down that he noticed he was trembling, claws extended, a red tinge to everything as his wolf sight took over.

What the fuck?

He took several deep breaths, in through the noise, out through the mouth, forcing himself to relax. He focused on the smell of the must, the dirt, the age of everything in the room, refused to think about the male scents on the mattress.

He slipped up.

Twice.

The third time he realized it was due to the underlying note in the werewolf's scent that he hadn't picked up originally, a certain sweet hint that was practically guaranteed to drive an Alpha like him crazy, thus fully explaining his need to bury himself in a mattress nose first.

The wolf was an Omega.

Fucking terrific.

Derek smeared a hand over his face, shook his head, cracked his neck, forcing himself to pull it together. The smell would fade, would be wiped out and covered by his own scent as he used the mattress himself, claimed it as his own territory and property.

He stopped himself before giving into the wolfy urge to roll around on top of the mattress, rubbing his check and scent-marking it. He hadn't done that since he was eight and Scott kept stealing his favorite Transformer action figure. He wasn't about to do it at his age as a fully grown—and mature—werewolf.

Besides, scent-marking like that meant he was staking a claim, that that thing—or person—was his permanently and that no one could take it—or them—from him. He wasn't about anything permanent these days, not when it could be so easily ripped away.

Feeling like he was in better control of his... well, his everything, Derek stepped back over to the bed in careful, cautious motions. He knew it wasn't gonna hurt him, couldn't suddenly leap up and bite him and demand his submission, but he couldn't prevent the wariness he felt when approaching it, the slight worry of having something as harmless as a scent overpower him like that again.

Fucking Omegas. Theoretically he knew that their scent could drive an Alpha wild, could hit the baser instincts and turn them into the animal they kept locked inside most days of the month. It was why Omegas had their own schools, why certain laws had been created after the "outing" of werewolves, to protect them from a feral rutting Alpha who didn't care about the words "no" or "stop" or "don't", only caring about giving into the primal instinct of mating.

But it was one thing to know all that, an entirely different thing to be hit in the face with the lingering scent of one. He felt like he finally fully understood all the necessary safety precautions put in place to protect Omegas, understood his dad's painful expression as he tried to explain to a then five year old Derek why his best friend at the time, Jimmy, wouldn't be going to the same kindergarten—or even the same school—as him and that it would be better for Derek to find new friends, Beta friends. Derek had reluctantly agreed, although a lot of his friends turned out to be other Alphas, including his now-ex.

Funny, but Derek hadn't really thought about Jimmy since then, except a passing thought after his first heat a few months ago and an absent worry about whether the guy was okay. He'd heard Omegas had it worse during their time and if his was that bad, he couldn't imagine how terrible his childhood friend had had it. But then Kate had text him to come over and all thoughts of heats and Omegas and long lost pals had fled as fast as the "k" text he'd replied with.

Shoving thoughts of everyone and everything aside, Derek grabbed his suitcase off the bed and dropped it into the worn desk with a thud. Pillows were tossed onto the floor before he mechanically went through the motions of making the bed up. He caught the unknown Omega's scent twice, both times having to stop to collect himself—and prevent his claws from tearing into the sheet or mattress—inhaling deep gulps of air until his vision normalized. The pillows were thankfully new and he was able to put the cases over them without incident. He halfway considered turning the mattress the other way, since the Omega's scent was near the wall where his head would be laying, but decided he didn't have enough fucks left to do it. Besides, he wasn't gonna let some odor beat him. He was an Alpha, for fuck's sake, not some little bitch.

He tossed the pillows by the wall and spread the flat sheet out over the top of the mattress, making sure it was close to even on both sides. Job done, he flopped face-down on top of it, burying his nose in the pillows, taking in the sterile scent of the store they came from and the supposed mountain fresh smell of the laundry detergent the cases and sheets had been washed in.

The Omega's scent wasn't completely gone, but it was mostly dulled down, to the point where it was bearable and he could easily ignore it. He'd have to really search it out in order to fully smell it, which he had no intention of doing—at least that's what his human half believed. And since it was currently in control, it beat the wolf's urge to seek it out and roll around in it.

He tried not to think too much on what that could mean. Then he tried not to think about anything, getting lost in the sound of three distinct heartbeats in the house and ignoring the depression that came with the realization that the third didn't belong to who he wanted it to.

The scents of browning meat, spices, and tortillas woke Derek up from a nap he wasn't aware he'd been taking. Pushing himself up, he inhaled sharply, analyzing each smell, before trying to orient himself. Maria's attic, on his stomach on the mattress that was now his bed.

A mattress with a dizzying scent.

Shaking his head, he pushed back until he was sitting on his knees, rubbing his face in an attempt to fully wake up. There was no clock in the room so he had no idea what time it was, but he figured he had to have been out for a couple hours. The room was darker now and as he glanced out the window behind him on the other side of the room, he could see the sun was lower, the sky dimmer.

He shoved a hand through his hair, causing the black locks to spike up more than usual, slowly rising to his feet. The flight had made him groggy, cagey, his wolf hating to be trapped for long periods of time like that. The jet lag wasn't helping things, especially as his stomach grumbled, reminding him it was past dinner time in New York.

His internal clock would be reset in a couple days, would adjust. He wasn't too sure about the rest of him.

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Derek made his way to the stairs and down them, opening the door silently. The scents of Maria's cooking hit him full force, his stomach growling louder, like a obscenity-laced tirade reminding him that food exists and should be in him now. Not in the mood to argue, he padded his way down the hall, the sounds of conversation and laughter rising to greet him.

He found her standing behind the stove, stirring something in a frying pan—taco meat, if the shells laying on a nearby baking tray were anything to go by. Melissa was chopping something the next counter over—a quick sniff telling Derek it was tomatoes—as Scott put small bowls of cheese and lettuce on the table. With five settings.

Derek glared at the fifth seat, hating how normal it looked on the round table. It was the spot his dad always took, the same chipped plate and torn placemat. It wasn't unusual for a younger Derek and Scott to help by putting the dishes and cutlery out, to put those items there for their father, who would smirk and wink at his two boys for putting the same ones there every time.

But their dad was gone, wouldn't be joining them for dinner, and Derek had to fight the urge to smash the plate against the wall, just so it'd be just as gone as the man who used to eat off it.

"Hola, querida."

His head snapped over to Maria, the frown remaining on his face as he pointed at the offending place setting. "Who?" he growled, not sure if he was asking who had put it there or who the hell was gonna use it. As far as he'd known, it was just gonna be a family dinner, only the four of them as they all got adjusted to the new living situation. Now suddenly there was a guest, a guest who'd be taking his dad's seat and using his dad's dishes. Not something he'd be all too happy about even if he was his previous social self.

Even less so now that he knew he was being forced to interact with someone he didn't know.

Because things just weren't awesome enough.

"Stiles," Scott replied flatly, causing Derek's head to jerk over to him.

"The fuck is a 'Stiles'?" he growled back.

Melissa called his name in a warning tone, obviously a chastise against his language, while the other Alpha rolled his eyes.

"Stiles?" the younger McHale son repeated, this time in a "you seriously gotta be kidding me that you don't remember" tone. "My best friend? Turns out he lives in Beacon Hills."

"Right next door," Maria added on cheerfully, tapping her wooden spoon on the edge of the frying pan before adjusting the heat on the stove ring.

"Yup." Scott practically beamed, looking like a giant puppy who'd been given a new bone for being a good boy, dark eyes twinkling, lopsided grin as big as ever.

It was Derek's turn to roll his eyes, unable to believe any of this shit. Out of all the towns in the world, they moved to the one where his younger brother's online bromantic interest lived. And right next door, too. Because if the universe was gonna shit all over Derek, of fucking course it would pour down rainbows on Scott. It was how things seemed to be working for them lately.

Yet another upside about living in Cali-fucking-fornia.

Melissa called for Scott's assistance, the younger male literally bounding over, that stupid smirk still on his face. Derek wanted to punch it off him. Their dad had died; he had no right to be so fucking happy about anything.

Derek heard the footsteps on the porch before the ring of the doorbell, green eyes glancing between the backs of the other three members of the room, an eyebrow raised in a silent question as to whether or not someone was gonna answer that.

"Derek, can you get the door, hun?" Melissa requested, answering the inquiry he hadn't voiced.

Shit.

Not bothering to hide his huff, he turned and scuffed his way through the living room towards the front door, boots loud on the wooden floors. He found the door surprisingly unlocked, the knob turning easily within his grasp, the solid oak door barely resisting as he pulled it open.

The scent was the first thing that hit him, full force, like a blow to the head and the gut at the same time. It was the same smell that lingered on the mattress, the one that had him burying his face in it to try and get a better whiff. Yet there it was, without any dilution, without any blocks, only the additional light odors of cotton, denim, and some form of hair product.

Derek wanted to drown in it.

Without thinking, Derek's right hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of flannel and yanking the owner of the scent inside, spinning him around before slamming him against the wall. Distantly, he heard the sound of an "oomf!", the sound of the air being knocked out of someone, the sound of a low rumbling growl. But he didn't care. His vision had shifted to shades of red and orange, his teeth elongated into fangs, and all he could think about was getting more of that smell in his nose, held within his lungs, and now.

"Hey, man, what the fuck?"

The protest went ignored as he buried his face in the smooth column of a soft neck. A male neck, judging by the note of testosterone held within the stranger's scent. Derek kept hold of the shirt as he inhaled deep, analyzing every layer and texture of the smell, the laundry detergent he used to wash his clothes—which smelled suspiciously like the one used on the sheets covering Derek's makeshift bed—the fabric he wore, the chemicals in his unscented deodorant, the cheeseburger he'd had for lunch, not stopping until he got to the very core of it. It was sweet, tempting, causing a buzz in Derek's head like he'd had too much sugar and caffeine and he wanted to race around the Grand Canyon five hundred times just because he could and because he wanted to prove that Red Bull really had given him wings.

He inhaled again, the scent further invading every inch of him until it was all he knew, until it was all he could breathe, until it had penetrated him right down to his very soul. His blood was rushing, pounding in his ears, pooling inside his jeans as the scent permeated his being and brought him higher than he thought possible.

And that was just from two inhales.

The third had him wrapping his free arm around a slender waist, pulling a lean frame against his broader one. He heard the sharp inhale of the other male, felt the shudder racing through an otherwise tense body, smelled his scent get stronger as a new spice joined in the mixture.

Arousal.

Derek's growl intensified, grew louder as he pressed himself against the stranger even more, trapping him between his body and the wall. He felt his cock harden, lengthen within the tight confines of his jeans and he moved his hips insistently against the lean frame he clung to. All rational thought had left his brain, his wolf controlling his actions, body acting completely on instinct. And at that moment, everything within him was screaming to just grab the guy, take him upstairs, and never let him leave.

'Mine.'

He trailed his nose up along the column of the other male's neck, rumbling appreciatively at the shiver he received in response, at the spike in the stranger's scent, at the small moan that just barely escaped past parted lips. The leaner male was pliant in his arms, unyielding, allowing Derek to do anything and everything he wanted to—which was a lot, judging by the racing thoughts in his head.

As soon as the clothes were out the way.

Really, what the fuck was the point of clothing anyway? It was just wasting precious naked time, delaying the skin-on-skin action, obstructing the pure scent of this male, this stranger, this person who had so completely captivated Derek within seconds. He wanted the leaner one sprawled out on his bed, nude, wanted to be able to run his nose all over bare skin and take in his scent before covering it with his own, marking him, mingling their scents so that everyone around knew who he belonged to, that he was Derek's and that nobody better touch him unless they wanted to lose a vital body part.

Or twelve.

He nuzzled into the other male's neck, scruff rasping smooth skin, before he grazed his teeth along the side of his throat. It would be so easy, so quick, just a tiny shift of his jaw and he could bite down, permanently mark, claim this person as his, let the entire world know what he already did: that the stranger was his.

'Mine.'

"Uh, Derek?"

His growls took on a more aggressive tone, his head lifting from the stranger's neck. He gripped onto the other male tighter, hunching over him to protect him from the intruder, feeling the stranger's body go rigid. Turning slightly, he bared his teeth to whoever had called his name, not caring who it was, only that they interrupted, that they were close to what was his, that they were a threat to take him away.

No fucking chance.

"Derek." The human part of him recognized it as Scott's voice, that the younger McHale was trying to keep an even tone, that there was a slight warning underneath it. "Let go of Stiles."

A brief flash hit him that that he should know what that meant, who that was, that those words put together should have some sort of significance. But his human side wasn't in control, his wolf having taken over and deciding his actions.

No way could that end badly.

"Derek, sweetie?" It was Melissa speaking now, cautious, easy. His head snapped to her, his snarls continuing, despite the fact that she didn't pose a threat. Her hands were in front of her, as though she was calming a wild animal—which, essentially, she was—her body slightly curled to show she meant no harm, the language of her frame speaking of submission. Inhaling sharply, Derek caught a whiff of her scent, of the fear and anxiety that had added a bitter note to her usual pleasant smell. Her heartbeat was tripping, bouncing, rapid, going along with the worry that was rolling off her.

Going along with three other heartbeats in the room.

With wide bright eyes, Derek took in the other occupants. Scott was to Melissa's left, his own body language similar to hers, only less submissive, the Alpha in him refusing to let him be afraid or bow down to anyone, regardless of age rankings. Maria was in the doorway leading to the kitchen, watching with concerned interest, her arthritic hands wringing a dishtowel. Her own fear was the sharpest scent, obviously unused to the nature of werewolves and their aggressive natures.

"Stiles isn't gonna hurt anyone," Melissa continued in the same calming tone as before, one she'd had plenty experience in using while raising two Alpha werewolf sons. "Just. Let him go, okay?" She nodded her head slowly, gently, as though that would help convince him to just agree with what she's saying.

Her words managed to cut through the fog of arousal and possession that the stranger's—that Stiles' scent had created, clearing Derek's head and allowing him to fully take in the situation and come to grips with what exactly was happening. And what was happening wasn't all that great. His family seemed to believe that Derek was viewing Stiles as a threat, that he was attacking the teenager because he was a danger to them, that he was gonna harm this relatively unknown person out of some primal instinct to defend his territory and family.

And from the way Stiles' scent shifted from something sweet and tempting to bitter and fearful, it was clear he was thinking along the lines of everyone else, that Derek had every intention of hurting him for invading their space.

Shit.

Shame curled in Derek's belly, a hot ball of guilt branding him from the inside out as his face fell and his growls cut off completely. The thought of hurting Stiles in any way twisting something inside his chest, caused an ache he didn't wanna look too closely at. It was bad enough he was feeling like shit for scaring the guy, for grabbing him and latching on the way he did. He didn't wanna further add to the self- loathing spiral he seemed to be sliding down.

With wide eyes and cautious movements, he turned his head to check the male he still had pinned to the wall, red leaving his vision and allowing him to get a good look. Pale skin was flushed with crimson, breath moving harsh and rapid in and out a slightly upturned nose, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. Dark eyes were rimmed with gold, pupils blown wide, and judging by the too quick heartbeat and the bitter scent of fear, Derek knew he appeared that way out of terror, not arousal.

Double shit.

Derek quickly released his grip on Stiles, shoving himself away and inadvertently pushing the younger male against the wall again. Without saying a word, without looking at anyone else in the room, he turned and ran up the stairs towards the attic, hoping to clear his nose and figure out what the fuck had just happened.